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We need to go home.
- Loras. - LITTLEFINGER: My lord, my lady.
Get out.
Stannis will be here in an hour.
When he arrives, Renly's bannermen will flock to him.
Your former companions will fight for the privilege
of selling you to their new king.
And you want that privilege for yourself.
You will note that I am standing here talking to you,
not Stannis.
There's no time for this.
Ride back to Highgarden, sister.
I'm not running from Stannis.
Brienne of Tarth murdered Renly.
I don't believe that.
You don't believe that.
Who gained the most from our king's death?
Stannis.
I will put a sword through his righteous face.
You can't stay here.
He would have been a true king,
a good king.
LITTLEFINGER: Tell me, Ser Loras,
what do you desire most in this world?
Revenge.
I have always found that to be the purest of motivations,
but you won't have a chance to put your sword through Stannis,
not today.
You'll be cut to pieces before he sets foot on solid ground.
If it is justice that you want, be smart about it.
You can't avenge him from the grave.
Bring the horses.
Please.
He was very handsome.
He was, Your Grace.
"Your Grace."
Calling yourself king doesn't make you one.
And if Renly wasn't a king, I wasn't a queen.
Do you want to be a queen?
No.
I want to be the queen.